Crossing Paths
by Kajakitty
Summary: Lestrade has a new detective flown from Ireland, or so he thinks anyways, a prodigy in her field, how will Sherlock react to her? Will she stay, or will her past catch up to her before she truly settles? eventual Sherlock/OC
1. Pilot chapter

'Lestrade, the new recruit is here', I was introduced stepping into the DI's office, the woman of African features making a quick step to the side to let me in. Donovan, I think that was her name, whatever, she was irritating me.

'Detective Inspector' my hand raised to my head in a salute while Lestrade was eyeing me from behind sleep deprived eyes. He must have had a hard case, no, he's in the middle of one if the 3 cups of coffee on his table are any indication.

'Ah, yes, the recruit' he mumbled, trying to remember my name

'Creedon' the DI looked at me stunned for a second before realising I had just supplied him with my surname, 'Kiera Creedon' I introduced myself fully

'Ah, yes, Detective Creedon, I'm sorry, not having the easiest of cases at the moment' he explained

'I can see that' I attempted to have empathy written on my face but I somehow think it came out wrong as Sergeant Donovan beside me gave me the most unwelcoming look I had the pleasure to see. Well this was going to be interesting.

'We have a press conference soon, Donovan, you will be the spokes person.' Lestrade stated giving the woman a pointed look, while signalling me to sit down for a bit more of a chat. Donovan huffed and walked out, slamming the door behind her. She saw me for 4 minutes and already decided she didn't like me, talk about rash decisions. 'Ms. Creedon' the greying man in front of me started

'Kiera' my correction arrived, he could call me by my first name, he didn't seem so judgemental

'Right, Kiera' he shifted in his chair to be more comfortable 'We're in the middle of a case at the moment, do you mind observing this time round? We do things slightly differently to the Dublin Gardaí' His eyes seemed almost apologetic for asking me to sit back on the case, but he was right, they do things differently in Ireland and it was probably best for me to observe, get a feel for it, and then jump right in.

'Of course Captain'

'I see here' his fingers rubbed off the back of a rather thick file that was clearly mine 'I see that you're very good at what you do' his gaze turning colder, ah, he was going into interview mode, how dull.

'Well I'd hope I am, as my file says I'm an ex-detective for the Gardaí and solved numerous homicides and not only' yeah not bragging at all, I smirked at myself, ok maybe a bit, but I'm allowed to.

'Yes, it doesn't state why you left though, so why did you leave?' Lestrade leaned in with interest and reservation. Why was everyone afraid of what they didn't know? I didn't kill anyone, that's for sure, but my leaving isn't something I particularly want to discuss, not in the middle of a homicide/suicide case.

'Many reasons, but mainly because I got bored' Well, it's a half lie, it's not that bad, right? I did get bored, all the same motives, all the same reasons for murder, where's the fun in that? Exactly, there is none. Lestrade nodded thoughtfully, his eyes glazing over slightly as he yawned while he looked at his watch and sprang to his feet.

'We have a press conference on in 10 minutes, want to join?' such a kind offer, how could I decline such a romantic getaway?

'Yes' my reply was given while I stood up smiling at the tired DI in front of me, who attempted to stop another yawn from coming out and failing, miserably. Lestrade opened the door for me and gestured for me to leave first, what a gentleman I smirked, then he led me down the corridor to the press conference room where the other officers were already standing in a line and the chairs started filling with reporters of all different newspapers that supplied London and England, Donovans words printed by the next morning. Once the room seemed to stop filling Donovan started her speech, clearly pre rehearsed with the man beside me, now if I was to ever look at someone and think 'Villain', he was it.

'The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.'

The man beside me mouthed the entire speech along with Donovan, much to my distress, the sound of lips smacking closed without words being spoken giving me cold chills, such a disgusting sound.

'Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?' one of the reporters asked, and what a good question it was too, a rarity. Lestrade shifted uncomfortably beside me, before he found his voice and gave a somewhat stuttered reply.

'Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...' his sentence broken off by an impatient reporter

'But you can't have serial suicides.' The reporter almost snapped.

'Well, apparently you can.' Lestrade snapped back, irritation soaking his voice.

'These three people: there's nothing that links them?' This reporter was starting to irritate me too now, what an ass.

'There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one' Lestrade said trying to remain calm, the poor man, not only was he sleep deprived he was also put on the spot by some smarty pants reporter. Suddenly the room was filled by ringtones, beeps, shreeks any other form of ring tone available to listen to, and everyone picked out their phone. Curiously I checked my own phone too, but I had no new calls or texts, apart from the one Mycroft sent me earlier to make sure I landed safely. Speaking of, I should probably reply to him, don't want the old man having a heart attack.

'If you've all got texts, please ignore them.' Donovan quickly piped up.

'Just says, 'Wrong'.' A new reporter stated. Interesting, I looked at Lestrade questioningly hoping he'd give me some answers but nothing came, he just shook his head.

'Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end.' Oh Donovan, so quick to run from trouble, not surprising at all.

'But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?' the first reporter asked again, as if Lestrade hadn't already explained all they needed to know by saying they were bloody linked. I huffed and changed my position as I was trying not to let my annoyance show, how dumb are people? Every day I went out thinking 'They can't be that bad' but every day I get surprised by human ignorance, they have a tendency to hear but not to listen.

'As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ...' Lestrade stuttered, oh the poor man, I wish I could help him but I have no information on this investigation. Again all the phones went off and again I checked my phone with no results, whoever was sending those messages clearly wasn't smart enough to get my number too.

'Says, 'Wrong' again.' The reporter stated again, Lestrade sending Donovan a despairing look and she got the message (for once) and said that the reporters only had one more question, which they quickly used 'Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?' The press and their love for serial killers, I'll never understand that. Sure, they're fun to solve, sooner or later any killer makes a mistake and that's their downfall, but the press romanticising serial killers just made more and more of them appear, and the more appear the duller they get.

'I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered.' So, we are talking about a mass suicide by the same drug? Now that was interesting.

'Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?'

'Right, that's a second question and we agreed on 'one more', I believe the conference is over' I stepped up. Ah damn, I really shouldn't have done that if the looks I just got from Lestrade and Donovan were any indication.

'Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.' Lestrade managed to finish his sentence before all the phones went again. For gods sake, the sound was giving me a headache. Lestrades phone went off a little late, and I saw a short message appear on his screen but couldn't read it properly, only the initials left by the texter, SH. He pockets the phone and thanks the reporters for arriving, then leads me out of the room while he talks to Donovan. The conversation is hushed so I can't make out all the words, but I do manage to catch something about someone making them look like idiots. Well it didn't take much to make that happen I giggled internally.

'Creedon, get your things ready, I want you to meet someone' Lestrade ordered

'Kiera' the correction followed promptly

'Kiera, get your things ready, we're leaving in 5' he repeated, smiling at me tiredly as he poured himself another coffee

'The coffee down the road is much better' I winced as I took a sip from the cup that I was handed by a sour looking Donovan. Lestrade just smiled at me knowingly and walked back to his office, while I sat in awkward silence opposite to Donovan and what appeared to be her lover, the villain guy, that's my name for him now, the villain. A few minutes later Lestrade emerged from his office fully dressed and ready to go, we exchanged quick nods and I followed the man out of the precinct and into the passenger seat of a Scotland Yard police car.

'I sit there' Donovan pointed out as I put my bag into the leg compartment, Lestrade just stared at her from the drivers seat

'Sit in the back' he ordered Donovan with a tone of finality. She simply glared at me and stepped back opening the rear door and I took my seat beside Lestrade. Once we were all comfortable in the car he pulled out and started explaining.

'We will visit someone who helps us solve cases when we can't find any leads' Lestrade began, 'He's a bit... Eccentric...'

'Freak' Donovan supplied behind me, can someone just close her mouth please? I don't want to get my hands dirty but if she doesn't shut up I'll do something I might regret, and Lestrade seemed to agree judging by the glare he gave her.

'Anyways, he's a bit specific to say the least, but he is very good at what he does' Lestrade continued returning his gaze on the road

'Consulting?' I asked curious, that's what I always wanted to do, consult the police rather than be the police. Give me enough power and I will abuse it to no end.

'Yeah, I suppose that's what he does' the man beside me agreed. The car ride was quiet outside of Villain and Donovan mumbling and giggling with each other in the back seat, they were so obviously a couple, it hurt. Why even try to hide it? Whatever, I don't care. We pulled up to a glossed black door with some of the paint scraping off and a golden 221B screwed on. I looked up out of interest and saw the curtain from the window above us flutter closed quickly, though I didn't have time to make out who it was that was watching. Lestrade knocked and an elderly woman opened the door, Ms. Hudson as Lestrate called her, who let us in while chatting constantly. Why can't people just shut up sometimes? Donovan and Villain decided to stay in the car, thank god. We followed the stairs up and into an already open apartment. After I stepped in I took a look around and I must say I thought I was messy but this room was beyond salvageable, the wallpaper was giving me a headache and the furniture was medieval at best. Ok maybe I am a bit harsh, Donovans mumbling and giggling gave me a headache and it didn't leave.

'Where' a baritone voice demanded, the lack of emotion in his voice making me look up. My eyes met with grey ones belonging to a man taller than me, with sand coloured hair and a soldiers posture, and I couldn't help but ask 'Iraq or Afghanistan?' to which the man responded with putting his hands up in the air and sighing in defeat while looking at the other man I had missed, who was clearly interested in me now.

'What is it with people asking me this? Second time! Second time this week!' the first man sounded exasperated, while the other was still boring his eyes into what felt like my soul.

'Kiera, Sherlock, we have a case to solve' Lestrade reminded us, 'Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.' He added with a pointed look at the pale figure named Sherlock. Wait. Mycroft had told me about a Sherlock.

'Sherlock Holmes?' I asked earning a curious look from everyone in the room, even the older lady stopped chatting.

'How do you know?' Sherlock asked, looking down at me with dominance, too bad that didn't work on me.

'Lucky guess' my fake smile almost believable, but I knew he caught it out if he is anything like his dear brother. His blue eyes looked at me intensely, studying me, deducing my every motive and my very life, but by the frown that appeared on his forehead seconds later I realised that he couldn't read me fully. Good, MyMys training had worked.

'What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different.' Sherlock asked Lestrade but never looked away from me, fixated on my eyes still trying to read me.

'You know how they never leave notes? ' Lestrade now took a step forward blocking me slightly with his body. How cute, we exchanged 5 sentences and he was protective over me, I put my hand on his shoulder signalling I was ok, and the taller man in front of me visibly relaxed. I started deducing Lestrade simply to kill the boredom that began creeping into my mind: Married but his wife is cheating, no children if the overly protective nature was any indication, though he wants children, my guess is the wife doesn't, very hard working, a little sarcastic which is good, means he understands my humour, loves his work and considers Sherlock good, though he also thinks the bark haired man a bloody nuisance. I like Lestrade, already, I decide I like him and I'll protect him if it costs my life. He's also fiercely loyal, much like the ex army officer that Sherlock seems to keep close.

'Who's on forensics?' Sherlocks baritone snapped me out of my thoughts

'It's Anderson' I giggled as Sherlocks face twisted in disgust at the mention of Villain

'Anderson doesn't work with me' he quickly retorted hoping to sway Lestrade off having Sherlock and Anderson partnered

'Well, he won't be your assistant' Both Sherlock and I turned to Lestrade wondering what the implication was, as his tone suggested he was about to throw a bit of a curve ball at us

'But I need an assistant' John looked at Sherlock almost hopeful as Sherlock said that sentence

'I know, that's why I had Kiera flown to London' My jaw fell, that wasn't just a flat down lie it was also him wanting to pair me with Sherlock? I thought I was just here to observe! 'Will you come?' Lestrade added looking between a flabbergasted Sherlock and me with my jaw hanging open, I quickly composed myself and nodded while Sherlock said he would follow. I turned on my heel and made my way down into the car promptly, followed by a mischievously smiling Lestrade.

'What the hell? I thought I was supposed to watch, I haven't worked cases in a long time Lestrade!' I huffed as we all settled into the car, a confused look wandering between Mr. And Ms. Villain in the back seat who I almost forgot about.

'Well, about time you started again then' Lestrade smiled pulling the car out of the parking space

'But!' I began, but Lestrade put his hand up signalling me to stop trying to change his mind about this, so I sat back into my seat, crossed my arms on my chest and stared out of the window. A long day was awaiting me.


	2. a study in pink and other problems

**A/N thank you for the review** **wawa: Haha you'll find out more about their link in this chapter! and yeah I tried to make them a little creepier cuz I hate them D:**

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 **I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter! dig in!**

 ***Edit* I only just realized how much the transfer messed up the first paragraph so I changed it as soon as I noticed it! Sorry for that guys and enjoy! (I should really start proofreading before I publish...)  
-**

The downpour of rain hit the windscreen of the police car I gazed through the now blurred window thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, my head so full of thoughts I couldn't focus and just let them swirl around in a sick, reminiscent dance. In order to calm my messy mind I started to focus on people I saw, burning their faces into my mind for a second and then forget them again, an exercise I did so often it became second nature. However soon I couldn't make out the faces of the pedestrians, so I recalled the faces I saw today, handily skipping Villain and Donovan, I had a special place for people like that in my mind. The army doctors face appeared before me and I quickly realised an error in my previous reading, he had a psychosomatic limp, at first I thought it was a real one until I remembered that he refused to sit during the conversation, curious. Then I stared into the warm brown eyes of a greying detective, his face adorned with an equally inviting toothy smile. If he wasn't significantly older than me, and married, I'd let myself fall for him. A nudge in my arm broke me out of my thoughts before I could proceed to the next target of my interest, and I turned my head to look into the same eyes that stared at me in my head.

'We're here' Lestrade stated while opening his door and I let a small sigh escape my lips, not quite sure myself of what origin though. Donovan and Anderson had already vacated the car to set up the scene while I took a little longer to stretch my stiff limbs out before taking my bag and following Lestrade to the house of the victim.

I assumed that at such close proximity to death after such a long time I'd feel something, anything, any sort of emotion, but there was just nothing. Had I gotten that good at masking my own emotions I was fooling myself? Doubt rose in the pit of my stomach, so that was a no. Lestrade stood beside me in the doorway trying to stay as dry as possible and I couldn't help but be glad that Donovan had to stand out in the rain in her stupid little police hat. Just as I began savouring in the sight of a soaked Donovan a London cad stopped in front of the police tapes and two figures stepped out, both Lestrade and I sharing a knowing smirk at the approaching silhouettes. We could hear them argue with Donovan, the stubborn woman with an IQ lower than her shoe size trying to outsmart the legendary Sherlock Holmes. As they got past the tape I could hear Donovans voice crackling through the walkie talkie

'Freak's here. Bring him in' the distaste in her voice evident even through the terrible quality audio emitted from the speakers

'Ah, Anderson. Here we are again' Sherlock smiled a charming fake smile at Anderson, who must have grimaced if the look of amusement and awe on the doctors face was any indication. The slick haired man stood in front of Lestrade and I so I sadly didn't have an opportunity to see his face, though it must have been priceless.

'It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?' he almost growled, but Sherlock just leaned into the man's neck and took a long sniff, leaning back with a smirk after he had deduced something.

'Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?' oh, ohhh, burn. I let a giggle escape me as I could guess what he was playing at, seeing as I noticed him doing something similar to Donovan. So, an affair then? Well this was more and more interesting.

'Oh don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that' Anderson must have been fuming, this was too amusing. I wonder how long they would imagine torturing me for finding this amusing, but the loud rain splashing onto the ground did a good job in hiding my amused giggles at Sherlocks indecency, interfering the sound waves with their own.

'Your deodorant told me that' Sherlocks smirk grew, while Anderson let out an irritated huff.

'My deodorant?' the incredulous sound of Andersons voice was just too good, c'mon Sherlock, hit him with it lad.

'It's for men' his face was almost quirky now

'Well, of course its for men! I'm wearing it!'

'So's Seargent Donovan' I couldn't help it now, and broke down into a full on laugh, much to everyones surprise. I felt everyone's eyes on me but didn't care, this scene itself should be framed. Anderson and Sherlock returned to their little testosterone test while I tried to gasp for air, but my stomach had already started hurting from the outburst and taking a full breath was almost painful. The stress and anxiety that I had been bottling escaped along with the laugh, and I had a sneaking suspicion that those emotions had something to do with the stronger than usual outburst, but I let it slip for now.

'I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.' Sherlock calmly walked past a flabbergasted Anderson, but turned on his heel two steps away 'And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.' Now I wish that my outburst was in this exact moment, Andersons face was just priceless, why did I never have my phone with me on those situations? Not the one Mycroft gave me though, he'd see the image immediately and probably fume out of his ears that Sherlock had insulted a Sergeant.

A smug faced Consultant walked up to Lestrade and I, and looked at both of us pointedly signalling us to turn inside, and we complied without a word, no point discussing this in the pouring rain.

'You need to wear these' the consultant told his army friend, who sprung to action.

'Who is this?' Lestrade was referring to the partner.

'He's with me' Sherlock dismissed the detective, pulling off his leather gloves to change them with latex ones.

'But, who is he?' Lestrade pressed, much to Sherlocks annoyance.

'I said hes with me' right, that clarified so much. I never even caught the mans name, it'd be nice to refer to him as more than just 'you there' or 'yer'one', the one with the limp' or something.

'Aren't you gonna put one on?' the sand haired man asked his companion about the coverall, quickly to realise the stupidity of his question and rolling his eyes at Sherlocks clear disregard of the gown.

'So where are we?' Sherlock turned to Lestrade who was observing me putting on my coverall, making sure I didn't rip it, or so he would like to believe.

'Upstairs' he snapped his gloves on and stalked up the old stairs. 'I can give you two minutes' he continued as we climbed the winding steps.

'May need longer' Sherlock casual remarked, the doctor standing beside the towering man, he looked adorably short beside Sherlock, though I know for a fact I am the shortest person here at a mere 5'4" I was a whole 4" smaller than the army man. We followed Lestrade into the room, I let the lads ahead of me, I was in no hurry unlike Sherlock here. Once inside my eyes wondered around the room, it was almost completely empty except for the rocking horse in the far corner, interesting thing to leave behind. The emergency light must have been placed by the police, and there were poles holding up the ceiling where there was a hole in the wall. After my analysis of the room was complete I turned my gaze onto the victim. Female, middle aged, left handed. Those were my very first conclusions. I paid no mind to Sherlock prancing around, instead focused on what I saw on the woman's body.

'Lestrade, did you recover a suitcase by any chance? A wheely one' my gaze turned to the detective who shook his head.

'Not that I recall, let me check' and with that he rushed downstairs. Sherlock gave me a sideways glance while the army doctor just stared at me, but I paid them no mind as I crouched next to the body, opposite to Sherlock. I traced my gloved finger over the word carved into the wood, 'Rache', I know it means revenge in German, I am in fact fluent in the language as I lived in Hamburg for 5 years, my parents liked to travel around in search for new jobs. Now, looking at her she hardly looked like someone fluent in many languages, so I thought about what else it could mean, Rachel perhaps? But why carve another females name into the wooden boards? Was she the next victim? I see Sherlock run his hand underneath the victims bright pink coats collar, and see it is wet when he removes it, so it was raining. The downpour here only started when we left the Baker street apartment so she wasn't caught in that, I should've paid more attention to the weather report. Sherlock removed and replaced her umbrella which was dry, perhaps the rain wasn't strong enough to justify an umbrella? Or maybe it was too windy for one. I watched as the consultant took out a magnifying glass inspecting the womans jewellery, as to why, I don't understand. He removes the womans wedding band and studies it thoroughly, had he fallen on one knee I'd have screamed 'Yes!' but sadly he didn't, shame.

'Got anything?' Lestrade returned with Anderson behind him, the Villain leaned in the doorway like he was some hot shit.

'Not much' Sherlock shrugged, trying to show off his nonchalance at the series of deductions I am sure he was about to release off his chest.

'She's German, 'Rache', it's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something...' Oh Anderson, stop while you're ahead hunny, just this once, please.

'Yes, thank you for your input' Sherlock retorted sarcastically, I simply rolled my eyes at the men, or rather, children. John was busy scribbling on his notepad, but stopped as soon as he noticed the lack of conversation.

'Ahem' I cleared my throat getting everyones attention once again, it was so easy to be forgotten when you're small, 'Clearly English, first off, probably lacking any other languages considering hew flamboyant dressing, she relies on looks rather than knowledge, so probably employed in media or the like. Left handed, died of asphyxiation presumably, she was here for one to two nights, more than likely one, judging by the size of the suitcase she was trolleying around behind her, married, though probably not happily considering she's here overnight without her husband, that's all I've got so far, anything I missed?' my question was pointed in Sherlocks direction, who now eyed me suspiciously, what was he thinking? That I read his mind?

'She's from Cardiff' he added showing us the weather report for the past couple of hours. 'And she's having affairs'

'Affairs? How do you know that?' Lestrade asked looking at me but I just shrugged and shook my head, no idea how he figured that out if I'm honest.

'Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple'

'That's amazing' the doctor exclaimed in awe, looking between Sherlock and I, we both just look at him, well that's a first. 'sorry' he quickly mumbled turning his gaze back to his notepad.

'Suitcase?' Anderson asked challenging Sherlock.

'Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.' This time it was my turn to enlighten the present company, the Doctor grunting in something that sounded like 'of course' and awe mixed together. It was a weird sound.

'Ok and Cardiff?' I let my eyes wander to Sherlock who was all too eager to show off.

'Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?' He asked as if expecting an answer, but he never waited for it, whipping out his phone again to show us the weather report which showed clear rainfall in Cardiff.

'Cardiff' he added smirking

'Thats fantastic!' the doctor said once again in complete awe as he scribbled notes on the piece of paper. Sherlock turned to him with the slightest of smiles hinting at the corners of his lips and asked if the man beside him knew he was doing it aloud, to which the army man quietly replied that he'd shut up.

'No, its fine' Sherlock and I said together, he just stared at me at that and I couldn't help but giggle at his face.

'So where is the suitcase?' I asked Lestrade, who shook his head in response, indicating he had no idea. So it wasn't here when they found the body, that could only mean one thing/

'The killer has it, not anymore if he's in any way smart' I stated, the killer would have thrown it out as soon as he noticed it. I sighed, my head hurt and I felt heat in my ears, I needed to sit back for a bit, not working cases had me exhausted after such a short period of time. Focusing was hard, especially for a mind as erratic as mine, and I had just focused on one thing for the past 3 minutes, though it's far from fantastic it was more than I was usually capable of. I need a drink. Being small had the added benefit of not being noticed, so as everyone returned to their conversation, Sherlock of course taking centre stage, I took the stairs down to the first floor, turned into the nearest room and let myself slide down the wall.

The hipflask that I always carry with me had a little glass circle in the middle so you could see how much you had left in it, I gently swayed the flask and saw the clear liquid sway from side to side as if in rough waters. After one more glance and a breath stilling listen to the conversation above my head I decided it was safe, unscrewed the cap and swung it back, and took a quick but relatively satisfying gulp of the alcohol, a relieved sigh escaping my lips as it burned its way down, the warmth quickly spreading into the depths of my body. After another couple of minutes I felt the retched liquid hit my head, my thoughts slowed down to an almost comical slow motion speed, and I could finally relax.

I stood up and walked out of the building, asking one of the police officers for a lift which they rudely declined, so I was forced to find a cab. Happily I jumped into the back of an older cabby and gave him my address, my eyes still on the sidewalk trying to focus on faces as the driver sped down the road. Everything was a blur anyways, so why am I trying to see faces? My body warmed as I stepped into my own little apartment, merely 2 bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room, not much bigger than the one I was in earlier today. Without even changing out of my clothes I let myself flop on the king size bed and stared at the ceiling, memories flooding over me. The faces of my past family and friends flashing across my eyes, tainting the white ceiling in many different colours, between sky blue to blacks and greys and miserable days in cells, or amongst the street folk.

As I shook my head to get rid of the heavy thoughts the scenery switched to that of a very posh looking building that I was taken to in a black car driven by a nice young lady called Anthea.

Mycroft had noticed me when I was at my lowest, just after I quit my job in the Gardaí, and took me in for an evaluation. At first I hated the idea of working for _the_ British government, my Irish education shining through. First time I heard the name Mycroft Holmes I thought I was in some bad James Bond movie, that was the most villainous name I had ever heard. His parents must have hated him. I wasn't pressured, he left the offer to me in a dark office on a very nice mahogany desk, and let me leave at my own will. Something in his eyes had me captivated though, despite being cold and hard on the outside I saw something more behind them. Sorrow. Why was he sad? It was almost regret, as if he failed someone.

My curiosity got the better of me and I accepted the offer, under the condition that he always be honest with me. Of course he wasn't, who am I trying to kid. He lied to me more than anyone ever had, but he helped me when everyone abandoned me. All my friends were in with the Guards, and none of them knew my... affliction. As soon as anyone found out of my deep relationship with the liquid I'd be kicked out of the unit, so when one of my cases found out I was forced to quit. Mymy had me go through rehab, but it didn't work. My brain was too erratic for me to handle, and no matter how many high grade psychologists he assigned to my case they all got kicked, figuratively and in some cases quite literally.

He had me work some less strenuous cases for him, ones that required more leg work than actual thinking, so I was let at ease. More thoughts threw me around memory lane, but they faded fast as sleep took over my body, and for the first time in a long time, I fell asleep peacefully.


	3. A relaxing day

**Hey readers :) First off I'd like to thank the following people for favs & follows:**

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 **This chapter is a little different as I'm taking Kiera away from the case for a bit, you get to meet a friend of hers and it's focusing on Kiera rather than the case or the episode.**

 **Hope you enjoy it and feedback is always appreciated :)**

Lying is an art. A lie, a good one anyways, is more than just words said in a moment to cover ones ass. A good lie is planned, prepared and delivered in an ordered, beautiful manner. Every step is in itself a masterpiece. That's what I'm good at. I'm a good liar.

The morning arrived much too soon for mind and body alike, both screaming at me as the shrill alarm resonated through the room. Mycroft must have left that alarm on, because I was in no state to set it myself last night. My mind still swimming in its sleep ridden state, the images it planned to show me as a dream ripped away, I pried an eye open to look for the forsaken aperture. Too long passed before I managed to get my limbs to listen to my brain, now much clearer than before. The warmth of the bed lingered on my body until the split second that my feed hit the wooden floor, a cold shock releasing through my entire being. Mornings were my best time, after any amount of sleep, as my brain was preoccupied with starting my organs and limbs up before attacking me with thoughts. A shiver ripped through me as I threw the covers off completely, listening into the room to find the source of the still ringing horror. I let my eyes glance at myself, realising I sadly also didn't find time to change last night, a side effect of my beloved liquid death. That must mean my make-up was halfway down my face as well, and for the second time this morning I am glad that I live alone. I found the phone on the far corner of the bedroom, how it got there, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to, probably tossed it there at some stage in the night, as I keep my phone close to me at night, careful not to plug it in though.

' _You have 3 messages and 2 missed calls'_

Oh. That explains why it was in the far corner. I don't take easy to people messaging me in the middle of my rare sleep. Reluctantly I unlock the device and am immediately greeted with another text arriving.

 _From: MyMy_

' _What do you think you're doing throwing that phone across your room, do you have any idea how much it cost?_

 _MH'_

I start scrolling down to the other messages, which aren't much nicer.

 _From: MyMy_

' _it's 7 a.m. if you're gonna go for a run do it now_

 _MH'_

 _From: Provider_

' _Hi, you missed a call from 'MyMy', press here to call back'_

 _From: MyMy_

' _I need you awake now, pick up_

 _MH'_

The 2 missed calls were from Mycroft, obviously. He is probably ready to kill me right now. Well… What can I do? I just had to sleep, I hadn't done so in the past week, all the more reason I'm glad to live alone. My techniques of relaxing may not be as loud as Sherlock's but I do have my own quirks, one of them being that I play loud melodic dubstep to quiet my brain. The definite beat makes it easier for me to focus on things, one item processed per beat of music, it works, somehow. After a couple of seconds of thinking on the best reply to Mycroft I start typing on the smart phone, which clearly wasn't very smart considering it landed itself in a corner because it wouldn't stop bloody beeping.

 _To: MyMy_

' _I was sleeping, appreciate the concern for that. As I'm sure you know I haven't slept in a while, so leave me alone when I do.'_

I pressed the send button after proofreading and chucked the phone onto my bed, where it landed with a muffled umpf. Leaving my bedroom I passed a full length mirror and almost mistook myself for an intruder, an intruder from a horror movie, my clothes all messed up and my face smeared in black and red make-up from the night before. Right, I really need a shower.

I had just undressed, having cleaned up my face with makeup remover, and was about to walk in the shower when my doorbell rang, and I had an idea as it who it might be. Thinking nothing of another woman seeing me in merely a towel I marched over and opened the door, turning around before I even looked at the guest and walking to the sitting room. It wasn't until I heard a throat clearing in discomfort that I looked behind me, my eyes widening at who I saw. It wasn't in fact Charlie, but it was two men, one significantly taller than the other.

'Oh, sorry I thought you were someone else', I shrugged, gesturing for them to sit down on the loveseat. The doctor looked at me red cheeked and after letting his gaze wander for a second he averted his eyes onto the floor, his rose tint darkening. A doctor he may be, but he still saw a body for its curves, rather than its medical needs. 'I was about to take a shower, mind waiting for a couple of minutes?' Both men made no movement, so I took it as a go ahead, my shoulder brushing against Sherlock's arm as I walked past. A hushed conversation broke out between the men as they thought I was out of earshot, but I paid no mind to it, I really needed some warm water on my skin right now and could think of little else. The water all but trickled out of the 'power shower turbo 2000' machine, but it was enough to wash shoulder length hair in and it was warm, that's all I want off a shower.

After I was thoroughly soaked in the warm water and squeaky clean I turned the shower off, much to my bodies' discomfort. I towelled myself dry, including my hair which I dried as best as I could, so pretty much not at all. Despite having had longer hair before, I never learnt the skill of towel drying it so it wouldn't drip, though I always observed other women doing it at the local swimming pool. I suppose that skill was beyond me to learn.

Resorting to the noisy blow drier to at least stop my hair from leaving wet drops on my t-shirt I managed to dry it somewhat. After putting it into a messy bun like hairstyle (I literally just bundled it up and stuck a bobbin on it, so it's not really a bun... but it stays up at least) and slap some simple make-up on my face I leave the bathroom dressed in tight black jeans and a simple baby pink button up shirt and make my way into the sitting room.

Sherlock had moved out of his seat, if he ever even sat, and inspected my bookshelf with a cold hard glare, though I could see faint interest glimmer behind his mask. Both men turned as they heard me tap into the room barefoot.

'Sherlock' I nodded a welcome, 'And doctor, I never got your name which makes me quite sad'

'John, John Watson' he introduced himself standing up to shake my hand, which I return. From the handshake alone I could see some things about him, he was very proud and highly loyal, protective over those he liked and more than anything he was honest, mainly because he was a bad liar. Ok the liar part I didn't exactly get from the handshake, that's pretty obvious on the simple fact that his face is extremely expressive and something like that is hard to mask, though with practice he could control it a lot better.

'Kiera Creedon' I returned the introduction.

'We need to use your phone' Sherlock intervened the little happy smiling contest John and I had going on.

'And why is that?' I turned my eyes to meet his light blue ones, their intensity astounding.

'Just send a text to this number' he handed me a phone number on a piece of paper and walked back to my book shelf, still screening the titles. I turned to walk to my bedroom to grab the stupid appliance called a phone and typed in the number on my way back, John smiling at me as soon as he saw me again.

'Ok and what do you want me to write?'

'These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out."' He dictated and I typed it word for word into my phone, looking up after I was done to signal he could continue if he wanted to, which he did. '"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come."' He looked at me expectantly waiting for me to confirm I sent it.

'This text will go through Mycroft's phone, you know that, right?' I asked him cocking my eyebrow, maybe he hadn't made the connection yet, though somehow I think he did.

'That's why I want you to send it' I shrug and send the message, imagining Mycroft's phone beeping moments later and him reverse checking the number to make sure I'm not going crazy and sending random addresses to even more random numbers. I just hope he doesn't intervene or anything, this is a NSY case and not a secret service file. Sherlock made himself comfortable on the loveseat and moved his hands under his chin, looking like he was in deep thought.

'What's your connection to Mycroft?' he spat his brothers' name, so he either didn't know or didn't acknowledge MyMy's efforts to keep his little brother away from trouble.

'It's none of your concern for now, Sherlock' He looked highly unsatisfied with the answer and I could immediately tell he will press me for more, so I quickly added 'I will tell you when you're ready for it, and you'd be smart not to press me for more, or I won't tell you at all' the fight in his eyes didn't falter, but he realised that my threat was not an idle one, and as long as he had his desire for knowledge he would not let it slip away because of impatience. At least I hope so.

'You blacked out?' John finally asked breaking the little silence that ensued after Sherlock and I had out ceasefire.

'What? No. no!' Sherlock shook his head exasperated, 'we have a killer to catch' he walked to the door, took the Belstaf he hung on the hanger and shrugged it on; John just followed the man blindly, while I didn't move an inch. After all, the command wasn't directed at me. I don't take commands. A few seconds passed until Sherlock turned around and looked at me questioningly. 'Are you not coming?' he, tilting his head.

'I'll pass, I have work to do' John and Sherlock looked at each other pondering the reply, but Sherlock quickly shrugged and left, John hot on his heels like a little pup. Charlie still hadn't arrived, and I promised her I'd meet her when I arrived in England. The door slammed shut and I was finally able to relax my shoulders, which slumped a little. I hadn't even noticed I kept my back straight in front of certain people anymore, makes me seem more in control and definitely stronger than I actually was. Just as I managed to sit down the doorbell rang, and sighing I got back to my feet to open the door. I was greeted with a flash of dye blonde hair and blue eyes which looked down at me from a 5'8" curvy body.

'You've been drinking', her usually angelic voice sounded tainted with anger and frustration as she eyed me suspiciously, pushing herself inside the apartment.

'Case', was my one worded reply.

'You promised'

'Yeah' I sighed, 'I know I did Charlie, but you know me...' Charlie simply replied with shaking her head in disappointment, and that stung more than anger. It was always disappointment rather than the seething anger I received from my parents at the time, anger I can absorb, but the pang of the other emotion was ungraspable for me.

'Charlie... I tried, I really did...' it wasn't a lie; I did try, but...

'Not hard enough' she supplied

'Yeah.'

A pregnant silence enveloped us, but after a while Charlie sprung to her feet from the couch she had been seated on and grabbed my arm.

'C'mon, we _have_ to go shopping! I'm sure your wardrobe is lacking several necessities' she winked, 'considering who you work with now' her grin was now from ear to ear.

'Oh you sly little...' I grinned back, gently slapping her shoulder. She had hacked into the system again, the little fox.

A high pitched giggle escaped her as she dragged me down the steps and into a taxi conveniently waiting for us already, and I let myself get pulled along because what else is a friend for?

'No but honestly, I don't see them like that' she hummed a sarcastic agreement and looked at me knowingly.

'Sure hunny'

'Ok yeah all of em are cute but I swear if you tell anyone...!' my threat left empty as we both smiled at each other but I knew she was already reeling down her contact list to share the news.

'Which one then? The husband, the PTSD Doctor or the arrogant genius? Or maybe the slick haired one?' I grimaced at the last image, 'Ok so not the last one' she grinned.

'All three of them are kind of enticing in their own way, Lestrade is protective and father like, John is gentle and cute, and Sherlock... He's Sherlock.' There was no easy way to explain why Sherlock was interesting, he was a genius and a highly arrogant one at that, as Charlie has aptly summarised, but there was something gravitational about him. He pulled few people in, but repelled many. Perhaps I found myself in the former category.

'He's Sherlock huh' she mused looking out her own window now. We arrived at the mall quickly, and as I turned to pay the cabbie I caught a glimpse of his photo I.D. on the dashboard, immediately recognising him.

'You picked me up from the crime scene'. It was a statement rather than a question, which he simply smiled at from behind spectacle covered eyes and asked for the fare. I shook the uneasy feeling that overcame me at that instance and paid, leaving the change as something beckoned me to leave that cab as fast as possible. It was very rare to have the same cabbie twice in two days, considering how large London is and how many cabbies drive here, something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was just luck, but luck is not something I believe in easily.

'Come on Kiera!' I heard Charlie shout from the other side of the road, already walking towards the mall entrance, her hips swinging almost hypnotically as her high heeled legs stepped. If there was ever a woman that I considered perfect, she was it. Though I much prefer her natural, almost auburn hair over the bleached locks that are falling around her face now. I shook my head as a smile ghosted my lips, if only I was half as pretty as her, then I wouldn't have to worry about any locked doors, ever.

Having caught up with the woman's step we turned into the first lingerie shop on the floor, namely Victoria's Secret. Not that I don't like the clothes, the undergarments on display are absolutely gorgeous, but what's the point in spending ridiculous amounts of money I don't have on pieces of clothing that no one will ever see? At least not in the foreseeable future anyways. Charlie made me try on many sets, from frilly pink corsets to black lace, finally settling on a black and red set that was absolutely stunning. Too bad it was for my eyes only. Later we went down to some clothes shops where Charlie had me try on more pieces than I ever set my eyes on, and after we (read: She) decided on a few drapes that looked well enough on me we went to the local pub. Nothing like a drink after a good shopping trip.

'So, what's your plan now hunny?' she asked me looking over her pint of Guinness.

'Solve cases I guess, I don't really know yet Charlie. I'm afraid that the cases are gonna make my habit worse, and I can't let em down more than I already have, y'know?' I let my voice slip back to the Irish accent I grew up around, though it was as little my own as anything else on or around me at the moment.

'hmm' she hummed her agreement. Though I had my virgin mojito standing in front of me, the straw inviting me to take a sip, the drink remained untouched. 'The waiter is cute' she glanced sideways, indicating the man that had been serving us (read: Her) with drinks all night, smiling shyly at her from a distance and prancing at her every word.

'Has a thing for you' I nodded, 'Not surprising if you ask me' she laughed wholeheartedly at my comment, though she knows I'm right. Any man that set eyes on her that ain't gay or blind fell for her.

'So Sherlock, huh?', she asked taking another sip from her black drink.

'What about him?' my eyes narrowed at her. What was she implying?

'You have a thing for him.'

'Nah, nuhu, nada, nope. He's an arrogant prick, is all he is' shaking my head I reached for my drink and take a sip, grimacing at the lack of alcohol. No virgin drink ever tasted as good as its naughty counterpart.

'Oh yes you do hunny. You just don't see it yet' what?

'How's that make any sense? If anyone would know it, it's me. These are my feelings you're claiming to know, my own emotions that I feel and no one else, what's in that drink?' mockingly I pick the drink up and sniff it experimentally, then take a small sip to confirm it wasn't drugged. That girl been talking some weird shit for a while now.

'So naive' she mused as I gave the drink back to her.

'So dumb' I grumbled into my drink.

'Wanna hit something harder? At least you won't be completely alone and drinking alone is the worst thing you can do dear' she reached her hand out to rub my cheek, and I let her willingly. It was a mothers touch that she used on me, a touch I hadn't had much time to grow accustomed to when I was a child.

'Ye' I simply nodded and she beckoned the waiter who didn't waste any second to bring us our drinks, Charlie had a whiskey on rocks while I got myself tonic and gin. Our conversation grew more and more relaxed as the drinks kept getting refilled, and soon we had to bid our goodnights to each other as the bar was closing.

'Thanks for the shopping Charlie', I kissed the woman on her cheek as the taxi rolled up behind me.

'No bother hun, let me know when you need some more time to relax, ok?' she kissed me back and we hugged briefly. Throughout the entire day her sickly sweet vanilla perfume held perfectly, mine always vanished into thin air after 10 minutes.

'Will do' I smile and pack my bags onto the back seat of the cab, sitting myself behind the driver, safest spot.

'Where to?' the cabbie asked, turning around to smile at me behind spectacle covered eyes.

'You' I gasped, but before I could say anything else his hand darted forward and I felt a prick in my neck. It was incredibly itchy and I tried to bring my hand up to scratch, but it wouldn't listen. Then I tried to move my legs, but they wouldn't budge either. Panic started setting in, but I willed it to wait, if I panic now I loose. A paralytic. The bastard gave me a paralytic. Just before my eyes fluttered closed for the last time and I lost all control, my mind was screaming for help, showing me the face of the one person I trusted to save me.

The face of Mycroft Holmes.


	4. The cabby

**Hey guys, sorry for the long upload time, I caught a nasty cold and had 2 assignments to finish for college, but finally the next chapter is up! Thank you for the favs & follows everyone, I really appreciate it! And please review, otherwise I don't know what you guys want to read in the future! :)**

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The first thing that I noticed was the incredible pain in my wrists. The stinging, blood cutting sensation was followed by the unforgettable rush of adrenaline, caused mainly by the gut wrenching fear I was experiencing. Despite my best efforts my eyes remained shut, though my hearing and smell returning slowly allowed me to be assaulted by the traffic sounds from outside and the unmistakable smell of moist concrete and wood. My head was throbbing and out of reflex I wanted to raise my hand to my forehead, but found that I couldn't. Whether I was tied, or simply paralyzed, I couldn't tell you. Panic rose and so did my breathing rate, my lungs gasping for any amount of oxygen I could manage, but I knew that it was still too little.

'I know you're awake' a familiar voice sounded, saying these words in an almost sing song manner, though the underlying frustration was hard to miss. Wanting to respond with a snarky reply, I opened my mouth, but my vocal chords seemed to be on strike, probably due to their dry state. Either way that response never made its way out, dying as a coarse gasp left my lips. I kept on pushing my brain to open my eyes, panic spreading through me as I still had no visual on my companion, that was the only means of identifying someone for me. Had he blinded me? No, that would be too risky and significantly more painful. As my eyes finally got assaulted by an all too bright light, instead of being annoyed about the pain I felt a surge of relief over me, so I still had my eyesight, however I had to close my eyes to ease the pain. Once again testing my body functions I attempted to lift my hands, feeling the muscles strain but the movement remained minimal. An almost sigh like breath left my lips as I realised that I was not tied down, simply under the effect of the drug. _The drug_. The headache subsided as memories flooded my internal sight, the cabby, the drug, the ride, the face I saw before I passed out.

'Le... Let me... Go' I managed to croak out finally, though every letter in those words hurt my throat more than being strangled. I could hear my wheezing breaths internally, though my ears were still coated in cotton wool. I furrowed my eyebrows, or well, at least I meant to do that, when I realised the cabby had started laughing. What was so amusing? Then again, people like him will find anything amusing that hurts another person. That's why I hunt them down.

'How about we play a game?' he asked, and I heard him lean down on a table I think.

My head hurt, my eyes hurt, my arms hurt, everything hurt. Now I had to battle a different kind of pain. _Come on Kiera, you can do it, just do it, come on_. I kept chanting in my head, knowing that what I did next would hurt more than anything, but once I did it I couldn't undo it. As I repeated the chant a second time I snapped my eyes open, the bright light assaulting my every optical nerve, stinging beyond anything I had ever felt. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, but I kept my eyes open, until they no longer burnt. With my vision swimming I looked around, trying to figure out where I was. Blinking several times to wash the rest of the tears down my vision became somewhat clearer, and I quickly recognised I was in a warehouse. The fact that I heard the steady rush of cars from the outside meant I wasn't far away from a major road, so already my brain was trying to work out a possible location. But to what end?

'Wha... What game...' I wheezed, my throat still scratching uncomfortably, though slightly better as I managed to wet it with some saliva.

'Oh, just a simple game really, I was told you're smart' the cabby smiled at me, almost warmly, but his eyes revealed a certain kind of crazy spark that no one should ever trust. I let my eyes settle on his, waiting for him to explain the rules. 'All you have to do is choose a pill, from the ones I set in front of you. One is the good pill, and the other is the bad pill. I take the one left over and swallow it. It's a game of intelligence really.' He placed two pills in front of me, both identical in colour, shape and size, and presumably in weight too.

'Chance' I croaked, 'A game of luck'

'Oh no, it's not chance, if it was I'd be dead' he smiled.

'You make them swallow the pill, under what condition? What's the security in that? What if they refuse?' I tilted my head, my throat finally soothing somewhat to allow me to form proper sentences, though my tone was still well rougher than my usual one.

'I don't need security' he smiled smugly.

'Then I refuse' I leaned my arms on the table, having to admit that that motion felt as if they were made of jell-o and probably looking that way too.

'I wouldn't recommend that' he now looked somewhat annoyed, fiddling at the back of his trousers to try and intimidate me.

'Whoever told you I'm smart told you I'm a detective too, I'm assuming?' I leaned in more onto the table, most of my body weight on the four legged contraption now.

'Oh yes' he smirked.

'If you have a gun just bloody shoot me then, I'm not taking any of those pills.' I smirked slightly at the confused look on the cabbies face, but to his credit he did pull the gun. My smirk died when I noticed that it wasn't a real gun, looking down the barrel might have scared most other people but one glance to the side revealed that the safety was fused to the rest of the body, the barrel too tight and the telltale straight line running through the middle of the gun showing where the plastic filled the impression gap in casting. Well there goes my chance at a painless death. Now the only question was do I play along, or do I call out his bluff and fight?

'You have nothing more to live for anyways, Miss Creedon' his smug voice almost resounded in my head, those words repeated to me after everything that had happened so many times I grew numb to them.

'There are many things to live for, if I lost what I had I'd just find something else to keep me going. At the stage I'm at, going to sleep just to wake up to see the sun rise is worth living for, when I finish breakfast; dinner is worth living for. There's always something.'

'Beautiful' he simply exclaimed. I chose to not reply to that and started thinking of something I could actually do to get out of this sticky situation.

If the man has any brains he wouldn't be here alone with me untied. However, the fact that I had barely any control over my limbs and that I probably had less strength than coordination at the moment, mainly thanks to the drug, left me with no real choice.

'Fine, I'll take the pill, got any water to swallow it? Or do I chew it?' The cabby smiled at my choice, clearly thinking he had won the battle of power, and replaced the gun into the back of his jeans.

'Chew, I forgot the water today' Chew huh. Though the results never came back on what the drug was that killed the 'suiciders' before me, that drug either had to be of a distinct smell when mixed with water, neutralised by it, or simply too weak when diluted.

Slowly picking up both capsules I roll them around in my fingers, _try and stall the man_ I kept telling myself, maybe Mycroft has tracked my phone, maybe Sherlock or Lestrade noticed I was gone, maybe, just maybe, I was going to be saved. Both tablets contained an almost sugar like substance in them, and my mind quickly concluded what drug it was. Asphyxiation, chew, sugar like appearance, quick action. Cyanide. How Germanic.

'You know, they used those in Germany' I attempted to keep a conversation going, stall him until I couldn't anymore. 'World war 2' The man looked at me interested, I guess he hadn't researched it, his gaze urging me to continue. 'It's how Himmler died, over 7000 suicides in Germany between 1939 and 1945 were committed using a highly effective, quick, but incredibly painful drug known as Hydrogen Cyanide. You know what it smells like when dissolved?' I tilted my head to the side, how much did the man truly know? Was he simply handed the pills and told which ones are good and which ones bad, and to not use water at all?

'Bitter almonds' he replied, correctly so. I nodded my head.

'Not everyone does smell it though, funnily enough it's like brussel sprouts. Just like some people will always find brussel sprouts bitter and horrible, some people will never smell Cyanide. Genetics is funny isn't it?' The tablets were still in each hand respectively, still twirling between my fingers, the plastic casing slowly becoming softer and softer. 'I was tested for those genes, simple experiment we did in college, but ever so handy now, at least I know I can always eat my face full with brussel sprouts during Christmas.' I smirked at the man, who was listening intently to my little speech, good. 'And I also know that I am one of the people that can smell bitter almond' I said a little prayer to god that there was any amount of residue on the capsules as I lifted both of them to my nose, and god would have it I perceived the slightest whiff of that glorious smell from my right hand. Replacing the tablets on the table, the intent gaze of the man shifted to one of confusion, then to anger. He only now noticed what I was doing. As I was replacing the pills I let the pills swap around in my hands, holding the man's gaze, making my motions as unnoticed as possible. I'll give him his death.

'Smart.' Was his only remark, as he shifted the left tablet towards me, and going to grab the right one. However, my hand was closer and I managed to grasp the tablet before he did, lifting it up and towards my mouth. 'Oh' was all he said as he took the left one, also lifting it to his lips. Seems like my attempt at swapping them out was successful. Feeling the softened shell of the now warm tablet on my lips I wanted to gag, the idea of it slowly and painfully sliding down my already burning throat making the bile rise to my stomach. Fully intent on swallowing the tablet I opened my mouth and propped it between my teeth, looking at the table as I was unable to hold the man's victorious gaze. Just as I looked up to meet the steel eyes, a loud bang echoed through the empty concrete room and I felt a warm trickle on my face, before seeing the cabbies eyes widen in surprise and what I perceived to be relief before they went empty and his lifeless body thumped on the floor.

'No... No, no no!' I shouted, the pill falling out of my mouth, forgotten. I rose to my feet for the first time since I left Charlie and looked around frantically, trying to find the shooter. The acoustics of the building made it impossible for me to hear any particular direction, as the shot rang out and echoed so many times it overlapped the original source. Soon standing up was too painful and I collapsed back into my seat, moments after hearing the door being thrown open and frantic voices shouting commands. I looked at the corpse of the cabby, he didn't even get to die his own death. Even that little privilege was taken from him. Somewhere within me I know he knew I gave him the bad pill. He wasn't dumb, just misguided and probably expecting a death that he didn't control. No one risks their life like that simply for the thrill, it was possibly the last thing he had control over and he lost that. Had he a wife? Children? Had they loved him? Left him? Did he have relatives at all left? Anyone to miss him? I never usually asked those questions when looking at a body, but for some reason I couldn't stop them now. And finally I asked the question that explained my unusual thoughts: How do I want to die?

The voices and boots grew louder by the second, and soon police officers stormed the room I was in, still sitting on that measly wooden chair in front of the too short wooden desk and the body in front of it, laying still in a puddle of crimson water. I couldn't help but admire the way the blood stained the grey concrete, it reminded me of the way expensive red wine coats the wine glass in a thick, even coat.

'Kiera!' I heard Lestrade shout from behind the officers, but I didn't have it in me to respond in any way, still staring at the mess in front of me. 'Hey' he repeated as he took hold of my shoulder. The grasp was in no way hard, quite contrary, it was a gesture of absolute truth and sorrow, but I still flinched away from the brown eyed man. Was he the one that took away the only control that the dead man before me had? Could he have done that? The simple answer was yes, he could have done that. He was a trained police officer, like me, and we are told to shoot when a threat arises, we are told not to care. I turned my head to look at Lestrade, his eyes showing clear upset at the fact that I rejected his touch, but also lined with concern. He must believe I was in shock. Perhaps I was, its hard to tell when it's happening to you.

'Did you shoot?' I asked, nodding my head toward the cabby. Lestrade broke eye contact to look at the body, then turned back and shook his head.

'No, we heard the shot and stormed the building; we're looking for the shooter.' He glanced sideways again, as if looking for the shooter despite knowing that they weren't there anymore. I let my head drop into my hands, shoulders rolled up as I just folded into myself. I wasn't crying, but the exhaustion hit me all of a sudden, my body clearly not as recovered from the drug as I thought it was. I felt Lestrade place another hand on my other shoulder, but didn't react to it at all, too tired to move my muscles. As I sighed, slouching that little bit more, Lestrade started whispering in my ear 'It'll be ok, you're fine, you're alive, isn't that what matters?'

'What good is my life if I can't even choose my own death?' A rumbling hum arrived from the other side of me, so I slowly lifted my head and looked up to investigate the source. As soon as I saw the dress shoes and suit trousers I could have a pretty good guess at who it was.

'The shooter, you're looking for someone who is an exceptionally good marksman, loyal, probably military training' He already shot out his deductions while I just let my heavy head fall onto my lap, medical personnel only now arriving, and almost frantically checking me for wounds, fussing over my wrists and asking if I got injected or otherwise injured. I told them about the drug so they promptly took a blood sample for analysis, after my very persistent request. Sherlock looked around a little longer, his eyes landing on Watson who was several meters behind him, notepad out and all. The Consultant was muttering something under his breath that I was simply too tired to even attempt to catch, and the cover that was thrown over my shoulders did little to alleviate my sleepiness. 'Actually, scrap that, I made a mistake' I heard Sherlock mutter before darkness once again befell me. Last thing I remember was a strong set of arms catching me before I hit the hard floor, and frantic shouting of the medics. I need a drink.


End file.
